55 Shades of Ficlet!
by maleV
Summary: 55 Resident Evil ficlets, which will involve every character and every couple! Enjoy! Rated M for some random ficlets. Will add characters to the list as they appear.
1. Intro

**55 Resident Evil Fanfictions!**

All different prompts with all different characters! I'm doing only 500+ with no elongated chapters. I wanted to try involving every character and feeling out some random couples that I may never do. Enjoy the insanity. Each chapter is a new ficlet of insanity. Ficlets galore! This will involve a thousand different couples and a thousand different characters, so if you are not interested in reading about any particular kind of scenario, please do not be irate, just wait. I'm sure you'll find one that suits your fancy. I plan on working my way through all! Please enjoy! Rated M for all scenarios that may be covered.

-maleV

1\. Chemical Testing (WeskerxBirkin)

2\. Lunch Break (ParkerxJill)

3\. Top Floor (PiersxFinn)

4\. Same Side of the Coin (H.U.N. K. x Ada)

5\. All Work, No Play (Alpha Team)

6\. Stop Messing Around (BillyxRebecca)

7\. Doe in Headlights (PiersxFinn)

8\. Mirror, Mirror (Alfred/Alexia)

9\. Worst of Times (Alpha Team, ChrisxFinnxPiers)

10\. A Better Hunter (WeskerxBirkin)

11\. Who's the Man? (AdaxKrauser)

12\. Room Service (LeonxClaire)

13\. Surprise, Surprise (JakexSherry)

14\. Spank Me (Quint Cetcham)

15\. Rise and Shine (ChrisxPiers)

16\. Office Politics (ChrisxPiers)

17\. How the Mighty Have Fallen (Alpha Team)

18\. Follow the Leader (PiersxFinn)

19\. .50 Cal (Jill, Chris, Piers)

20\. Watch Dog (LeonxHelena)

21\. Only After (PiersxFinn)

22\. There Can Be Only One (WeskerxExcella)

23\. Silly Ol' Bear (Chris)

24\. Under the Table (Alpha Team) (co-written by: Morriganna)

25\. Literal Meanings (Wesker, Chris) (co written by: Morriganna)

26\. On Your Left (ChrisxPiers) (co-written by: Morriganna)


	2. Chemical Testing

Title: Chemical Testing

Prompt 1. It's bigger than I thought.

Characters: Wesker x Birkin

* * *

"Albert, stop. I have work to do… research." Smaller hands shoved in annoyance at the pair of black latex gloves that had effectively wrapped themselves about and into the pockets of the flowing white lab coat, trapping the slender man within its folds. Assailant taller, stronger, and over all a more dominant predator, the blond wrangled into his coils seemed all but to have no defenses left other than to fuss into compliance, turned until his smooth teenage face was nudged against the span of his lab partner's taut chest, and after some time finally ceasing to resist, the flat of a smooth cheek against the dark fabric at Wesker's chest. "Research, Wesker." All that was in response was a deep throaty hum, at the final act of compliance, one hand relinquishing it's hold to stroke back the mussed blond hair on Birkin's head, that never seem to tame, unlike Wesker's own, with a hair never out of place. "It's only been a few hours, but I think I've finally proven my theory, I've just got to-" The same hand latched about the smaller man's mouth, silencing him as a groan emit passed the fingers covering them, knowing orbs moving up to catch with the blue gray murky irises which stared down upon William as if they were seeking to swallow every retort until the scientist's lips stopped moving in futile attempts to derail the distraction. The stare which Albert Wesker could maintain always managing its course of befuddling the younger white coat into believing that it was best to be silent and take what was coming to him, particularly pertaining to that thousand yard stare that commanded authority in a manner William could never dream.

wo scientists of varying majors, with similar if not unimaginably likeminded skill. It was only natural that when left to their own devices, that the antisocial nature would prohibit other's from infiltrating their bubble of chaos. Building a better cure. Or rather, building a better virus. No other would suggest that William Birkin was the genius behind the mass of the research, but with every good scientist actions must be taken, and when action was called upon… Only Wesker could fulfill what they needed. He needed to say little or nothing upon wrangling William into holding his constantly frantic state of mind, into a proper stillness. Sighing with a huff as one arm wrapped around the limber torso, under the folds of a second white coat, into the darker fabric, while the other reached out fingering the paperwork and beakers resting upon the lab benches. Foreign liquids and tester substances stained the tips of the latex white gloves upon William's digits, prodding a beaker which rest upon the flame, his pout turning into a small grin as the taller scientist leaned down wordlessly, nestling the juncture of a thin throat, firm lips parting to take a harsh nip of flesh. Laughing rather manically, William squirmed in tough hands, the sudden feeling of wetness upon his throat earning a soft throaty moan, while another nip brought a chuckle, being methodically shoved inch by inch into the work bench, their bodies firmly pressed into one another until every contour could no longer be hidden by the wispy white jackets they wore. William practically giggled as the firmer body of his cohort shifted a thigh betwixt his own, nudging hands at the hips moving with ease to pluck him from the floor, and set the scientist with precision down upon the table top, hands roughly massaging the slim hips.

"I'm sorry Albert…," slate blue eyes captured by pale ones that mischievously were misdirected, peering between their bodies. "I didn't realize it was that big." Blond brows jumped up, amused annoyance playing on Wesker's visage, mirrored by the mirth in William's eyes as he lifted a beaker from behind him. "The test sample I mean…" A chuckle from Birkin's mouth was silenced, the glass tube plopped down with a small clink as rough hands stopped toying and grabbed exactly what they wanted.


	3. Lunch Break

Title: Lunch Break

Prompt 2. Let's have a Quickie.

Characters: Jill X Parker

* * *

Slender long fingers clacked away at the keyboard with a slowed rhythmic speed. That of a knowing hand that wasn't developed for a keyboard, but rather a trigger. With a sigh, and a glance toward the glittering light, reflecting from the window, off the glass of a picture which was placed upon the corner of her desk, Jill couldn't help her smile. Fingers stopped their ongoing patter, taking a break from the ongoing filing of the last several days of investigative reports concerning the B.S.A.A. The glare upon the frame made it hard to forget that she hadn't seen her close friend in such a very long time, the photo an old one recovered from the long ago formation of S.T.A.R.S.

"Boo!" The strangely thick accent, and large hands of a man absent in the photo popped up from behind, Jill leaping from her seat a few inches as those hands wrapped about her eyes. "Such a busy little bee." A laugh form Jill, and the hands were removed, swatting Parker in the arm as he leaned down, their lips meeting briefly as the slide away keyboard was nudged under the desk. "I had a few minutes to myself, and I was getting a little bit_ hungry_…" Calloused mitts walked their way up a bare thigh from the knee, stopping at the edge of the skirt which hugged all the right curves. "Nice piece of _sausage_…, shoved between two fluffy buns?" Parker grinned a lopped sided thing, as Jill's face reddened, sucking in her cheeks and lips, nibbling on the flesh. "Smothered… in a nice… _creamy_… sauce?" Her laugh was musical, swatting at groping hands, as they reached between her and the chair to grab hold of the round bottom that her skirt did little to hide.

"Parker!"

Squealing as she was hoisted from the desk and all her paperwork slid to the floor, plopped onto her own keyboard with the reflexive need to wrap her legs about Parker's thicker middle, scooting their bodies just close enough as her skirt was shoved up around her waist, fingers toying with the strings over her panties. "I can smell it now… Come on, _Captain_ Valentine…, Let's have a quickie."

"I… I have a couple minutes."

"Good!" With a pluck in his step, Parker Luciani moved, Jill's legs plopping other side with an incredulous yelp; the former F.B.C. grabbing a bag beside her, holding it up victoriously as two Italian Sausage sandwiches were revealed, his heavy weight dropping down into her office chair with an undeniably Parker only grin. "Dig in!"


	4. Top Floor

Title: Top Floor

Prompt 3. Don't be shy.

Characters: Piers Nivans x Finn Macauley (FinNivan)

* * *

Fingertips pawed together, tapping against one another as sea green eyes peered within the confines of an unknown place. Taking on feline attributes to bob and swivel, attempting to take in every aspect of the strange portal, gapping like a fish the longer left to his own devices. Only three days ago he was being verbally abused for his reckless behavior for team mates in the field and yet here he stood, gawking in awe over the completely foreign feeling of being offered inside a fellow soldier's home. Apartment more as like. In California, Finn's home wasn't lavish to say the least, but the truth of the matter was that once standing outside the front walk, it was hard to believe that this rundown little place belonged to one of their very own elite. Swallowing a gob, shoes were removed, much like in his own home, though the combat boots of his host remained in place, thumping across old carpeting that was worn down from the constant in and out. Perhaps it was that the entry way was the most used of the apartment, Finn's eyes taking in the side table with both a dish for keys, and the single side arm never seen in the field, cocked and ready to fired if need be. It seemed like a dream, yet in his dreams there was always a mutual affection and strangely here he felt none, despite being offered to do something that never in his wildest would he have considered to do. Laced tucked inside the shoe, the demolition expert made an effort to lower both hands, peeking into the living area. The small little apartment couldn't be called much of anything but an efficiency, however there was a partitioned wall separating the living room, combination kitchen and dining, from what he assumed was the bedroom passed the tiny hall.

"How long have you lived here?" Curiosity seeped in, attempting not to judge, but failing at a smile that took note that the S.O.U.'s ace sniper, was very much a man's man when it came to his goods. The walls lacking pictures, apart from several awards hung where a television might be considered. The acceptance into the Army. Acceptance into the sniper academy. Finn took notice of the date stamps of each and the credentials which marked A.T.L. Nivans as the best marksman to come from the acad. Graduation from the academy, and acceptance into the B.S.A.A. There were no superfluous things about the apartment, just a place to put your head at night, while the kitchen seemed fairly small, listening to the noise of clinking cups that rattled together. "It's nice..."

"Heh. Don't lie rookie."

The tenor chuckle was followed by a small mug, handed into ungloved mitts, pleased to feel the warmth under the glass, and letting it soak up, Finn's eyes meeting Piers' own exacting hazel while they captured one another. "I'm not lying… It's understated, like you." Taking in a deep breath, Finn suddenly realized why it was Piers always smelled of cinnamon, taking a small gulp of the steaming liquid that furled ribbons of wafted apple through his nose. Cider. A meek smile crossed the rookie soldier's lips, looking up from under his cast down visage, so that he could spot the brief smirk on those cupid's bow lips, as the scent was breathed in deeper. Everything about this place was Piers, despite the barren exterior. There were guns everywhere, each one a custom build, crafted from the regulars they were given, but Finn could spot the modifications. Just like Piers to keep himself busy from work, working on things he needed for work. "You never take a break, do you?" Busying himself with his cup, Finn hid his face in the mug of warm liquids taking a bigger gulp the longer a perfectly sculpted brow lay rose, bemusement written on a naturally frustrated features. "Sorry, I just-

Dark hair covered by a beanie, was exposed as a single quick hand jerked it free from Finn's head unexpectedly, taken with as a trailing item, as the sniper seemed to brush passed him with ease, shoulders bumping and Finn bobbling the glass while long strides took the more lean soldier to the edge of the partitioned wall, not stopping to look back. "You want to see the rest?" Oh God yes. "Don't be so shy, rookie."


	5. Same Side of the Coin

Title: Same Side of the Coin

Prompt 2. What's that poking me.

Characters: H.U.N.K. x Ada Wong

* * *

Sultry movements went intentionally slow, one hand raising before the other, intentionally lax to draw attention away from the gun tucked away at the meat of Ada Wong's thigh. Fingers did a tiny dance as they moved tiny bits higher, narrowed eyes threatening to glance back only to feel the more pronounced shove of an assault rifle tickling the base of her spin, just above the split in her silken dress, which left no room to hide her chosen weapon. "What's that poking me, hm? A gun, or are you just happy to see me?" A more insistent shove, and the other hand rose as well, an exasperated sigh leaving her rose bud lips as the digits did a tiny wave backward over her head. Quickly the painfully obvious weapon was reprieved from her thigh, fully gloved tactful hands undoing both holster and weapon without ever releasing the hold upon the deadly weapon pointed at her own body. "You know we both work for the same side. No need to hurry off now." Black cropped hair swished as Ada Wong rotated in her high heels, unafraid while her prize was stowed in a rig upon the characteristically unrelenting team leader of Umbrella's Alpha Team. Behind all the heavy gear and goggles one never could tell what it was he was thinking, but the physical hesitation as both raised hands aided to accentuate the smooth curvature of the Asian woman's body while she slinked closer, following his backward stepping with a clack of her five inch heels. "What's wrong tiger, do I scare you?"

Mechanized breathing through the mask which guarded any man from knowing the true identity of H.U.N.K.'s person. In the line of work, even their allies were enemies; despite the nefariously seductive woman who allowed herself to push defenselessly against the thick fabrics covering the anonymity of man behind the mask. Hands wove like twin cobras, moving their way down, hypnotizing until low enough that they cupped the mask covering, the weapon immediately returning with a shove to her side, as Ada playfully giggled, pressing her lips to the red lensed glass to leave a perfect kiss mark, giggling musically at the mechanized grunt of upset; gasping as the gun never removed from its jagged point in her belly, shoving her backward through the facility's hall way until colliding with whatever smooth surface hit the small of her back first, both invading each other's space for a brief moment, pressed dangerously close. Neither acting, just the threat of a trigger finger poised and ready. "Okay big fella…, I gotcha. Maybe next time." A scoff, and with a sudden drop of the smoke grenade to aid in his cloaked escape, the other agent was gone, leaving Ada coughing and blinking frantically until there she stumbled into the next room, not once tripping on the black tall heels she wore; that cough turning into a muted laughter as a single hand swept up, juggling the palm sized vial with a smile. "Next time."


	6. All Work, No Play

Title: All work, No play

Prompt 1. Sore in the morning.

Characters: Alpha team

* * *

Arms raised over fatigued, saturated heads; all weapons were forced into a raised up position, each one of the five members of a bedraggled Alpha team struggling with the weight of their own bodies, as well as those of their full gear, ruck sacks, and assault rifles, and the fatigue of a prolonged 32 hour days of straight training. Perhaps it was the heat… the 98 degree heat above, combined with the discomfort of legs paddling for near on their second hour in the lap pool. Struggling to breath, Finn raised his head up higher, biceps straining from having kept his weapon held high, while Alfonso had already begun to take more shallow breaths, each one looking in turn for their Captain's approval in his eyes, but never finding it. Only chestnut eyes boring into their souls, and stealing any confidence that the men sloppily treading through the water could have possibly mustered through their drudgery.

"This is bullshit, man! You can't keep us in this goddamn pool over night!"

"Wrong, Alfonso. I can, and will." Crisp baritone bellowed across the water surface, rebounding off the back wall, as each man suffered in silence up to that point. In a few minutes there would be another, bitching about rights because water drills were easily the most difficult training exercises within any military field. From the stunts they pulled earlier, they all deserved it. Flying by the seat of their pants through that last mission, and getting a survivor shot. Not fatally, but Alpha team didn't get to make those choices, and it was only proper that the instigator of that operation was being forced to carry double weight, and despite all the begrudged voices, there was that one he hadn't hit the breaking point with. "If you're all done complaining, Alpha team. A.T.L. Nivans, why don't you lead your fuck up unit in cadence? I haven't heard your lovely voice for the last hour. Or are you too exhausted?"

"No sir, not tired. Alpha team, form up!" The confidence never waned and they all knew that was what the Captain was waiting for. It was time to watch them break. _"__The Army calls 'em drill sergeants!"_

_"__The Navy calls 'em RDC's."_

_"__The Air Force calls 'em their TI's."_

Kicking legs seemed to gain stamina from the ongoing cadence, most tone deaf, which wasthe way Chris liked to hear this boys calling out the Jodies. The only voice among that that could carry a note, being catholic choir boy, Andy Walker. Even if the only thing catholic about him, was that he loved seeing girls in those mini skirts. Chuckling, Captain bellowed out along with the team. "_But mine is strictly a DI. Drill Instructor_, _then his rank. Unless you want to play games." _Of course Nivans chose vengeance in song. That was okay…, they could do this all night long.

_"__Never "sir" or something more! Or __my face is on the floor."_

"Fuck…, we're gonna be sore in the morning."


	7. Stop Messing Around

Title: Stop Messing Around

Prompt #6. : Did we fuck?

Characters: Billy Coen x Rebecca Chambers

* * *

Tight cramped quarters brought a wave of uneasiness, seeing the undead, decapitated or otherwise with their sticky pools of blood poured about, around his head. In stark contrast, heavy drapery and velvet plush, hung in tiny windows, about the dining cart of the Ecliptic Express. Wooziness still stole over features, shifting uncomfortably up against stale, chilly limbs, kicking futile at the head of one already downed beast, the hounds of Hell released that had scared the smaller agent of S.T.A.R.S. tactical team, flailing frantically as the world spun from the gore and surrounding horror which had chanced her upon this vessel. "Get off me!" Squealing, Rebecca Chambers stamped her feet, still sideways in the isle as hands grasped about her shoulders tightly, urging an even louder scream. "No! Get away!" A quick tiny hand grabbed for her missing handgun, crying as a tear leaked form the side of her face until legs wrapped about her middle and a hand slapped over rounder cheeks muting her screams until finally she could hear the faint shushing sound from the being who restrained her.

"There we go, yeesh. Thought you'd never stop." Releasing the mitt from Rebecca's face, the S.T.A.R.S. medic clambered to her feet, shoving away from the convict se had been charged with, a memory returned after her fainting episode. Giving a hard slap to the hand that requested some aid in righting Billy Coen's person. "What? Was I that bad?" A scoff was all that was returned, Billy using the back of one of the cushioned, overly posh train booths to pry himself from the gory scenery. "Damn… That's a real mess you made there, girlie."

"I didn't do that, and don't call me that. I'm not your girlie. Now where's my hand gun, Coen? We can't play around here."

An arched brow rose, nonchalantly shrugging up both shoulders. "Can't win here, can I? What? Did we fuck?"

"EXCUSE ME!" Rebecca stopper her scrounging among the bodies to stare at the audacity of the man who seemed in no particular rush to escape their current prison. Spotting the smug expression on that of the young prisoner and reached to cuff him, despite the height difference.

"Just trying to figure you out. Sound like one of my ex-girlfriends."

"You're such a pig. Stop messing around and help me find my gun. We need to get a hold of S.T.A.R.S. and get the heck out of here before more of those things show up."  
/div


	8. Doe in Headlights

Title: Doe in Headlights

Prompt 7. Is this your first time?

Characters: Piers x Finn

* * *

Finn's tiny spurt of endurance shoved him passed the threshold of the portioned wall, gulping at the sudden realization that his feet had crossed over the boundary that led into his commanding officer's bedroom. He was about to do his gaze of awe and take in the sight of a unicorn, except for the first time, it was cut off by a sudden 'ooph,' tripping over something as he hit the edge of it with his booted toes. A second thing thrown at him from the side of the room that stopped him from his usual doe eyed wondering, to fumble in an attempt to catch it. Sea green caught the flash of the warm olive hue abdomen that was returned to cover by the long sleeved undershirt that fell back into place to cover that heated flesh. Finn still unaware of his gawking while spotting the very rare smile that graced over the smooth features of his team's A.T.L. It was still hard to believe he was here, let alone to break free of awe when the sniper realized that Alpha's demolition's expert was still yet bobbling his over shirt. A slightly cocked, curved brow raised, curiosity flirting with the obvious intention behind what they had been playing at for the last several hours. "You just going to stand there, soldier?" Coy fingers flicked the hem of his own second layer shirt, giving it a tug in a way that only briefly showed skin. The invitation went lost on the younger agent, still holding his cup and blinking while trapped in hypnosis to the patch of skin revealed. "Finn… Finn…" Annoyance hovered in hazel orbs, rolling them as the drill sergeant dropped his head forward with an exasperated huff. "_Macauley!"_

Startled, Finn jumbled up words without knowing what to say, eyes alarmed from the sudden outburst, but stopped in his jitters by a hand that reached out and grabbed him, the other wrapping about the mug which had been near dumping, with the same sureness and ease which poured out of Piers' very being. Peeling it from Finn's hands, the glass cup clinked as it touched the edge of the bedside table that Finn hadn't had time to take in; beside the modified sidearm which sat cocked and loaded. "Jesus. You'd think someone who has to deal with explosives on a daily basis wouldn't be so skittish." Embarrassment flooded pink onto Finn's cheeks, barely aware of the hand that grasped his own, sliding it to the bottom edge of the tan long sleeved shirt he had been fingering earlier.

Slowly, the combination of cider and confidence started to spread heat within the chilled tips of the brunette's hands, picking at the edge of the shirt, as Piers' own dropped to his side, giving a reassuring nod, to the man who had glanced up from the defined muscles of the assistant team leader's toned physique, for affirmation. Gulping back some of the discomfort, the other hand came up to join, sliding up under the fabric and across the amazing smoothness that was his commander's body. It awed Finn, how incredibly unfettered his calloused hands were allowed to move along the plain of Piers' person, still half expecting to be shot for taking such a liberty even after encouraged to do so. Surprise hit him as digits touched the soft trail that lie beneath the shirt, leading down under the lip of already unbuckled fatigues. Perhaps he hadn't expected Piers to have any hair at all, but somehow it brought a bright smile to his face upon the realization, even as the tips of each finger dared to follow it to the edge of elastic. Only again startled when the posed statue he was being trusted to touch, reached down to grip the edge of his own shirt, peeling it off like a second skin. Red rose immediately, and both hands retracted once the mystery of touching the forbidden heat of flesh was revealed to him. If brought another smile to otherwise naturally neutral features, Piers giving a soft shake of his head, before nodding Finn to walk backward, relenting immediately to the wordless command until he felt the bed at the back of both calf muscles chancing a quick glance over the shoulder before taking a seat; unable to stop the tiny giggled that bubbled from Finn's lips as Piers thumbs hooked the edge of Finn's shirt. "This your first time, rookie?" The red flushed from the Irish's face, almost paling as arms hoisted over top allowing himself to be freed from the confines of his shirt, stuttering out a rather fumbled, 'yup.' Sounding as awkward as he felt. "S'okay Macauley…, I'll take it slow."


	9. Mirror, Mirror

Title: Mirror, Mirror

Prompt 2. Am I being too forward.

Characters: Alfred/Alexia

* * *

"You kept me waiting quite long enough, brother." Words rolled from her tongue dripped of blue-blood. Perched in front of a large vanity mirror with the over mantel design reminiscent of the George II giltwood, flowers in a basket with acanthus scrolls made up the surmounted décor. Alexia squinted back at her reflection across the table, making a face while both hands reached down to trace her fingers along the design of a dragonfly etched upon the large, wooden cosmetic box. "Forgive me, Alexia... I was dutifully handing down the sentence of mercy to an unruly group of prisoners, yet they squabble! Criminals lack honor." Wearily, so wearily had Alfred Ashford squawked his complaint with a high enough pitch to leave a ringing in any ear. In comparison, Alexia's voice was an alluring purr of steel and confidence. Applying powder with an ivory-handled brush, she scrunched her nose before responding: "Honestly, Alfred. They squabble due to your insistence to pawn them off as patients to the good doctor." Silence given, his forehead wrinkled with concern, reaching to cradle strands of her long, golden hair. Perfectly groomed, it was almost unnatural in its purity. Alfred furrowed his brow as she spoke further: "Come now, did you really think I wouldn't know? What I do not know is what an anatomist expects to learn by filling a woman's bladder with glass shards before stitching the wound shut." She knew! She always knew, as his younger twin, sometimes it felt as if she took up residence in his head. Alexia casually waved her hand away from a few strands of her own hair, smoothing it down. Alfred leered at his sister in the reflection, mewling out a moan as he grumbled. Alfred's face grew rosy at the mention of the cruelty conducted by the doctor that he, as Commandant, approved. Not bothering to hide the growing erection beneath the fabric over his hips, he spoke with such adoration for his sister: "I only thought of you when she screamed. I could hear you sing! Oh, Alexia. In every way her agony was your song." Lifting his arms, the grandson of Edward Ashford conducted a silent opera of Ophelia's madness, paying no mind to the powder causing his fine nose to twitch. Alexia waved her hands of the dust cloud that was the powder between her and her reflection, lowering her arms and expertly applying her light shade of lipstick. She was a living doll, perfectly made up with the necklace around her neck containing the family gemstone. Alfred nodded eagerly, taking a brush as he caressed her mane, his fingertips gently moving down the curve of her neck. "Oh, if you would sing for me… am I being too forward, Alexia?" A radio crackled to life nearby, just next to his hunting rifle, a nuisance by the name of Rodrigo Juan Raval. Alfred blankly stared forward, tearing off the blonde wig while using his palm to wipe the semen away from beneath his dress.


	10. Worst of Times

Title: Worst of Times

Prompt 2. Is that a hickey?

Characters: Alpha Team, Hinted FinNivanField

Disclaimer: Morriganna did aiding in this ficlet, as I appreciate her Chris-isms, AND this ficlet may have gotten much bigger than the intended 500 words « » ENJOY

* * *

"So when she's done blowin' Rose, what does this girl do? His cum still dribbling down her gob, onto her big ol titties. Reaches over, grabs me by my fuckin' face, and snowballs me!"

"Ooooo, harsh. So wait, let me get this straight," A snort fettered from Airhart's stifled chuckle, policing the brass of Walker's weapon, while another few rounds punctuated the air. "So basically…, what you're saying is," another chuckle, tossing the rounds into the nearby bucket, whilst avoiding the sprawled out legs of their prone lying sniper. "You've sucked Marc's dick?"

Laughter bellowed from those surrounding the training yard, Alfonso slapping a knee while trying to maintain sights on the targets down range. Chris snickered to himself, arms imposingly crossed over large pectorals, muggy air making the broad expanse of chest muscles work harder to fill. Chocolate eyes winced upward with a chortle, watching his men as they feigned gagging. Falling into one another, while grabbing for their throats, gagging at some ill reference made. All it did was cause a snicker, admiring his men and watching while they bonded in the way only they knew how.

"Come on, Rookie. Worst sexual experience. Let's hear it."

Walker laughed, brushing it off as he aimed downrange, popping off a double tap on the target, while Finn's face reddened and blushed. "Come on, Airhart. You know that our good lil rookie doesn't swap spit. Not unless he's going to share about when his mommy taught him to tongue kiss for the first time." Flicking off Finn, the second volley of double shots from the weapon, were made blind, no time to consider. "Or was it finger banging your-

"I kissed my best friend's sister…" Silence and awe as all the rest of the team, including the good Captain turned his head in slow motion, brows risen while watching Finn's face turned red. "My first kiss, and she gave me mono."

A moment of silence while the other's held their breath just before bellowing laughter. A round of thundering pats on the back, rattled the rookie; Captain Redfield watching as he slid down to one knee, resting a hand on the back of the one person who didn't rise to give Finn a nice cage rattling. One knee down upon the ground, the other crouched, molasses eyes watched the men, while a hand slid down, catching into mesh fabric, the stoic, unmoving body beside never taking eyes from the targets downrange. A rough gripped pad of a gunner's glove dragged painfully into the folds, swiping across forbidden flesh with a victorious smile. "How about you partner, care to share?" The thrum of that heavy baritone voice drew attention from Alpha team's rookie, to the unmoving sniper, with Chris' hand peeling away, catching every single eye from the team. Eyes glancing down to revel in the mark, that now everyone on the team could see, Andy Walker turning with a bass mouth.

"Is that a hickey?!"

"Holy shit. A.T.L. got some sugar last night! Come on, Nivans. Spill!" Sugar. More like spice. That hickey courtesy of the good Captain. Unwrapping the shemagh slowly in places until it revealed to the boys of Alpha just how marked up Piers' neck was. Purpling stippled bleeding from teeth biting and welled bruising under each hickey. "Shit! A fucking wildcat tried to eat you, A.T.L.!" The team admired the marks upon that neck, along the side of his throat, and nape of the neck. Venomous eyes which remained trained down range, strained not to glower up the culprit. He marked the sniper as his, so he wanted everyone to see it, even whilst the marks varied… from two different assailants.

Even if they weren't told the details of which transpired. Chris did the deed. Instead… "Yeah, _Nivans_. Tell us about your worst sexual experience."

That expectant stare from the Captain, the rest of the team. Gotta bond, right? Hazel eyes, narrowed, finger squeezing over the trigger, caressing it as a shot rang out, the distinctive boom jarring the whole team before their second in command finally moved; unaffected by the shots fired. Piers' slid from lying prone, pulling his knees up under him, slowly both hands on the ground, letting Chris watch as he pushed back, knowing exactly where his eyes had fallen to; while his own eyes fell upon the red faced rookie that everyone had forgotten about. Intentionally drawing eyes to the potential harm he could cause even while reaching up, righting his scarf as both feet took his weight, and standing up straight. "My worst sexual experience?" Pouted lips pursed, sharp eyes flicking back to the Captain briefly as he reached down at the waist, pulling up the rifle that he toyed with in his hands. Slowly sucking in that bottom lip, half lidded eyes watching while Finn did his best to cover his face with the beanie he wore. "Can't get worse than a virgin…" Andy chuckled, Chris following the sniper's eye line to Finn who was blushing furiously, hiding his own chuckle. "Watched for weeks…" Piers tongue slipped over that lower tiers, giving a slight shake of the head as he reminisced. "You never know how they're going to feel in your hands, how their body will shutter when you hit that sweet spot…" Immediately a throw of hoots went up, Alpha team watching as the sniper shrugged his shoulders up, weapon tugged upward into a standing shot, aiming, and shooting in less than a second. "I slip my hands down that curve… perfect fit pressed up against me…, and pull the trigger. POW! Bitch get me every time." That neutral glower immediately turned to a chuckle, tugging down the right shoulder of B.S.A.A. regulars to reveal the bruises from his rifle. "First time's a bitch." Laughter rose up along with it, Chris' chuckling whilst Finn was ignored for his massive release of collected breath; Alpha team bursting into levity.

"Yeah. See, Nivans' woman is right there." Chris pointed to the Anti-Materiel Rifle in those skilled hands. "Pops a finger inside her every-" _BAM!_ "-single time." The boys hooted and laughed, Airhart reaching out to touch Piers' 'wife,' before receiving a look that could turn a man to stone, Chris slapping a hand against his partner's back. "Now, now. That would be cheating. That's bad." Laughter from the rest of the team. "I guess it's my turn…" Chris let the tension linger, pacing the length of the shooting line unable to hold back from bursting out laughing, shaking his head. "Which you guys will have to wait for, until someone other than Piers can get a perfect shot on that dummy. Jesus, you clowns are idiots. Back to work!" Nodding his head, a chuckle rebounding off the training area, perfectly for only one soldier to hear, hugging an arm about Macauley's shoulders. "In my office. Later."


	11. A Better Hunter

Title: A Better Hunter

Prompt #10: Wow, kinky.

Characters: Wesker, Birkin

* * *

Long prehensile tongues swept the air together, winding like snakes in search of heat, in search…., meat. There was a certain beauty and fascination as those slick red muscles wound about themselves, each other…, until skinless bodies were found, caressed with the tips as they probed each other, searching sightlessly for their next meals. A single lapping tongue, sliced seamlessly through the air, as claws skittered upon the floor, bringing the quadruped creation of one William Birkin, closer to the heated body behind the thick pane of glass. Long claw like toes tapped curiously upon the glass, head tilting to and fro in study of what heat lay beyond. "Beautiful, aren't they?" Wispy eyes captured the scene of a eyeless being, pressing a white latex glove to the other side of security, hand running the length as that curious creation brought itself splayed upon the wall, huge razor like teeth upon display with a muted hiss; tongue splatting upon the opposing side to smear saliva upon the wall. Crushing its teeth upon glass in and attempt to get beyond, and reach the potential victim on the other side. "So…, fragile, and yet so powerful." Unblinking eyes stared onward, as the airy stature of such being's creator, sway unconsciously with the strange melody that moved the viral plague upon the other side, wavering in tandem.

"_Fragile_?"

"Yes." Unaffected by the aristocratic English which pierce the air, far louder than that of the barest whisper from the doctor's own lips. The long tongue laved upon glass, lapping the surface behind William Birkin's hand, gloved fingers curling to stroke the glass behind. "Apart from their sharp teeth, and highly aggressive nature, these creatures of mine are so... delicate. To have one's most vital organ, on the outside of their body, on display for anyone who dare takes its life. No flesh to protect its limbs." Lower a hand, which the licker on the other side followed, long digits caressed the length of a fleshless, 'frail' torso, palm sliding up until only the fingers trailed together, curling them inward as a single finger pressed delicately upon the very point that that slimy extra appendage rest. "Yet they have no fear… Perhaps their lack of pain receptors that alerts them to their eminent danger."

"Perhaps… But they understand caution. They stalk their pray."

"Hnn…" William's hypnotized eyes followed that of the creatures body behind glass, the youthful hum trapped within his throat, drawing attention from orbs hidden behind dark frames. Arms splayed, white gloves matching with clawed appendages, taking in the sight before pressing his own tongue upon the glass; the liquid upon the other side smeared as the other's dark muscle shoved and sought against it. Birkin's cheek nestling up against it. "They'd be better lovers, than they are killers…"

"Kinky." Unamused sarcasm dripped from thin lips drawn in a line; a dark leather clad hand cupping about the waist of white pure fabric, pinning back to the lab coat to grip a thin hip. "William… come. We have guests to attend to. We'll see just how frail these creatures really are."


	12. Who's the Man

Title: Who's the Man

Prompt #11: Let's do a little roleplay

Characters: Ada, Krauser

* * *

"And just we're clear, I don't trust you. Nor does Wesker. If you try to do anything clever, I will kill you."

Glistening steel glimmered over the shoulder of black on red; amusement mixed with that lethal bit of annoyance, which conveyed itself perfectly inn Ada Wong's eyes, taking in the sight of the flipping combat knife. Jack always so over the top and grandiose with his 'meaningful gestures.' Black strands of charcoal hair straying briefly out of position as the Asian minx refused to turn back to face the larger apex predator; ignoring his obvious misconceptions. Jack Krauser always had been a bit too fond of their mutual employer; almost comically so. Standing in perfect denial that they were in fact on the same side…, or were they? Two sides a very different coin, while her thoughts processed faster than his scarred maw had time to interact with her over. His obsession over Umbrella's entrepreneur was almost eclipsed by his fascination with Leon Kennedy. Perhaps dangerously so, as rose bud lips curled coy into a smile, tipping her face as if to consider the threat. "You know, I met Wesker a lot longer than you."

A glower on that stoic militant's face, knowing well she struck how with the flip of the knife that glint in a snarling eye. "We'll see soon enough if you did." His raspy voice was almost as entertaining as his inability to contain that exuding manhood that he continued to thrust forth. If only she'd been born a man, than perhaps she wouldn't have had to play the sweetness that they all looked for, and could react so boldly. Trusting their endeavors to Jack Krauser was simply a matter of the fairer sex not having the appearance that Umbrella wanted to put forth about their agents. She was better left, a spy. One who thought tempted to walk away, played the cards of her given hand. The straight flush. Walking the very few steps toward that flipping knife with heels clicking upon the floor; Ada's red dress making it all the more painfully out of place in this dismal warehouse. Gathering the fabric bunched into one hand, the woman strut easily, taking attention from the sharpened weapon, and placing it upon swaying hips, looking up under black locks.

Jack's grip strengthened on the hilt. No pretend for love of what they both equally served; the same as how neither bothered to fake the hatred they held for one another. Though it didn't stop the same outraged blond from taking in ever over musked inch of Jack's bulging frame, suggestive dark eyes casting downward, the universal sign of defeat. "Maybe…" The lull of sweetness in her tone, always managed to put edged men at ease, as proven with her wayward puppy, Kennedy, "you and I should… try a little role play." A tiny hand moved with such fluidity, tracing the length of the clutched blade, fingerless gloves creaking from the strength of restraint the older Army man used, as those deft fingers crawled up Krauser's knife, to the hand holding them, dancing to hug huge straining knuckles. The other petite paw which had held the cinched dress, released the fabric to pool about the legs, walking them up the broad beastly chest which heaved a snarl; digits sweeping up to snatch up the red beret, plopping It lopsided upon her own head with a giggle as immediately restraint fled and that massive weapon cleaved through the air where her body had been, flipping backward as the hat plopped upon the ground. Ada's laugh musical while she fled to the door, blowing a kiss at the roaring lion. Yes, if only she were the man…, hiding in the shadows wouldn't be so necessary…, or fun.


	13. Room Service

Title: Room Service

Prompt #12 : Do you have the keys to these handcuffs.

Characters: LeonxClaire

* * *

Claire Redfield sat at the side of the bed, fully clothed; a smile crossing her made up features as she looked at the victim upon the bed. "I must have worn you out," she says softly, her voice carrying no further than his ears. "Especially if you were able to sleep like that." She nods, attention brought to the hands shackled above the D.S.O. agent's head. Leon chuckled as he did his best to stretch out tired muscles, toes wiggling in the sheets, while both shoulders popped, from their extended elevated position. As he looked at the girl, dark hair was flipped with a toss of the man's head; using that insidious bad boy charm which wrecked most any woman but this; letting that signature smirk spread over sharp features.

"Well," he says, amused she hadn't uncuffed him yet, giving both wrists a twitch to show of the jangled noise of the metal. "What can I say, you're good at a lot of things, Redfield. Even the unexpected."

Claire's rose hued smile widened as she looked over at his jacket leather bomber jacket; holding it within her hands to paw absently at the worn down collar. "I'm glad you liked the change of pace." One hand reached down to splay along the blanket that cover her victim. Like her brother however, she was not master of the sternness in her voice, or the crease in her brow, which caused that smarmy smile of Leon's to fade. Taking in the sight of another Redfield intent on making him suffer without a justification.

"What's wrong?"

"Rumor has it..., that I haven't been the only woman tying you up."

Leon raises an eyebrow, lips tugging up briefly to point out her pun, before they sunk away yet again. "Where in the world would that rumor come from?" voice leveling whilst he shifted so that the pillows once beneath his head, were now comforting the soreness of his back, keeping the calm in the room while painfully aware of his position. "Your brother, right?" He smiled, leaning up with a seriousness to his voice. "I can assure you that you're the only woman for me... It's always been us, Claire. Ever since Raccoon."

The girl watches him for a moment then nods, toying with the leather still within her mitts before withdrawing Kennedy's phone with a tug, dangling it. "It doesn't seem like what I'm hearing is farfetched... Helena doesn't seem like your type, but then I've been wrong before. But this picture, does seem pretty suggestive, just for a partner." Flashing the phone, there was no further need for explanation.

A raised eyebrow caught Claire's attention, uncomfortably beginning to shift under her dark stare Leon chuckled. "Helena? She's just my partner. I don't have a choice on who I'm partnered with. Claire why don't we just talk about this over breakfast? Do you have the keys for the handcuffs? We can grab a bite in the hotel restaurant."

Claire smiled and nodded again, the more feminine features of her face showing as she rest a hand on his chest. Bending down to kiss his cheek trailing to an exposed neck as the jacket which she held was plopped into the D.O.A.'s serviceman's lap. Hooking the blanket with a pinky finger, she reached his ear, whispering to him I that sweet tone that had coaxed him into the room the night before. "Then maybe you shouldn't come back smelling like her perfume..." She rubs his chest before getting up. "Your _partner_ should be here in a few hours to come get you for your next mission… I hope she knows how to pick a lock." Roving the room in a few short steps of her infinitely long legs, the blanket dragged away to the floor, puddling there with a noise of rustled fabric, leaving Leon Kennedy in only his leather coat. When she reached the bedroom door, she looked back innocence feigned on her face. "Oh, and don't forget to pay the hotel. I'd hate for them to have to clean up this mess." Leon laid there, his shock overwhelming, rendering him speechless for the barest moment. When his shock subsided, he frowned, hearing the click of the door, and her fleeting back.

"Claire! Claire! Come on! This isn't funny!"


	14. Surprise, Surprise

Title: Surprise, Surprise

Prompt #13: Maybe we can find a closet or something.

Characters: JakexSherry

* * *

Sherry sighed, clacking away on her standard issue keyboard, of her standard issue computer, with the standard issue cubical of D.S.O. boredom. Sighing, the girl puffed up a cheek, sending in for another confirmation of transportation to the same department that she had been forced into pursuing for several weeks. Of course the details of the reason for transport request was not in the 'need to know' list, which meant more boring. Who would have thought the world after saving would be so…. BORING! It went from roaming the world, in search of this… adventuresome marvels. Seeing all the horrors that her own family had had a hand in creating, and defeating them. From traipsing the world with the guy you…

A large sigh escaped pouting features, shoulders slumping. Everything had been so much more interesting when- "Jake?!" School girl pitch questioned as the ginger headed mercenary waved a hand, still clutching the apple that contributed to the bits and pieces upon his face. Maybe it wouldn't have been so shocking if he wasn't on the outside of the window on the fourth floor. "Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?!"

"You want to let me in, super girl?"

Cockiness flooded his face as always, fingerless glove clutching the lip of the window as Sherry stumbled to it, throwing the latch and window open immediately. "They would kill me if they saw you here. What were you doing out there?" Sherry's voice dropped to the barest whisper, shoving young Wesker Jr. across the room to her tiny desk; paranoia seeping in as she searched all the other offices and exits. She had been alone, but not for long, Sherry took her lunch after everyone else, to avoid having the phone unmanned. "Jake, what were you thinking coming here? You're a wanted man."

"Well thanks, Supergirl, good to know you want me. But actually I came here-

"Shhhh!" A finger shot up, Sherry's face turning pink; whilst Jake simply sat, munching upon his apple one bite at a time. Glancing about the office, a slight smirk appeared on that scarred face, amusement written in raised brows.

"You know here I was, thinkin' you'd be glad ta see me, an-

A ping form the elevator sliced through the air, Sherry's eyes bulging from their sockets as her tiny hand slapped across Jake's face, sticking over his mouth. "We've got to hide you! Do you know what they'll do if they find you here?" Jake's response was exasperation, a raised brown annoyed eyes which remaindered her of a long time ago, when she'd known his father. "Maybe we can find a closet or something." A groan, Sherry's fingers twining with Jake's as she shot a look toward the copy room, squeaking as the doors began to open, and hurtling them both inside, closing the door in the darkness as the office came back to life. Finally allowing herself to take a breath from her urgency, Sherry sighed, head threatening to thump against the wood door from relief. Turning, the blond girl almost giggled, turning around to be greeted by Jake's thin lips, humming with a happy sigh. "Hiiii…"

"Hey yourself."


	15. Spank Me

Title: Spank Me

Prompt 14.: When you bend over like that, you're begging to be spanked.

Characters: Quint Cetcham, Jessica, Jill, Chris

* * *

"Oooo baby, when you bend over like that…" Beady blue eyes squint up into slits while fingertips directed a joystick, thumb prodding the stick forward to zoom in on the camera which hummed in response. A quick dart of the tongue to wet the lips, and Quint Cetcham sniggered like a perverted old man, chortling as the one of a hundred individually controlled camera units within the B.S.A.A., zoomed painfully close to a half-clad, scandal which protrude perfectly. "Mmhmm, that's right. Reach for it baby. You're just begging to be spanked, aren't you? You bad girl, you. Wear those tights." Supervising was a boring ass job, but it certainly had its perks. Including the vertically blessed Ms. Sherawat… and on monitor twenty-two, Jill Valentine. There was a reason for that call sign after all. Who wouldn't take advantage of watching a hot and sweaty workout featuring the delicious form of the B.S.A.A. queen of lock picking; or yoga with Jessica as the star? "It's like God woke up this morning and said, 'Quint, we're gonna fap.'" Narrow lips twisted into a grin, fingers stretching out on the keyboard in the eerie resemblance of the downward dog which Jessica did so well, and keyed in the screenshot, snorting once as she rose, and brown hair covered over her scantily clad chest. "Yeah, today is going to be a good day."

But, Quint had to do his job as a supervisor, it was only right that he not… neglect his duties. Besides, what if 'warrior pose 2' caused Jessica to pull a muscle in her flexed gorgeous ass and someone needed to come to the rescue? All that exposed round flesh, glistening with sweat and lotion… urgh. Distractions, distractions. Leaning in with a clink of greasy forehead to static monitor, camera 27 flickered itself to life with a bit of motion, Quint's eyes dragged to the parking garage. "Going home for the day, Chris? Bit early for you isn't it?" Video was blurry, but Quint could make out the undeniable shape and contour of the bulging Mr. Redfield. Always putting them to shame. Words cannot be heard, audio wasn't fine-tuned yet for the B.S.A.A.'s multiple camera system, but it wasn't the audio that struck as Quint cant his head to the parking lot. "Better get a closer look. Taking time off for a booty call, brother? Nice. Who's picking you up for an early lunch, hmmmm?"

A full blown grin widened as camera lenses zoomed to pick up the hottie waiting by the car only to cock his head and jerk backward in the swirling chair. "That…, explains a lot…" Quint's eyes bugged out of their sockets in shock, as the body leaned on the car in wait shifted slightly beneath a more powerful hand, shoving back the body against the contours of the car. "Didn't know Papa Redfield was playing pitcher for the other team… Damn." Watching as his good friend… took advantage of someone with tawny hair. Shaking his head, Quint grimaced, casting his eyes back toward camera five to scrub the image free from his mind. Jessica Sherawat…, in full split, oh yeah.


	16. Rise and Shine

Title: Rise and Shine

Prompt 15.: 5 minutes? Yeah that'll do.

Characters: ChrisxPiers

* * *

Chris couldn't help the smile that drew over his features, so small that most people would still consider it part of his melancholy, while the morning was forced at bay by blackout curtains. In thirteen minutes, he knew they'd have to be up. His partner would get up out of the warmth of broad pectorals, and slip into the military casual dress that was properly folded beside the old tattered duffel; which in turn he would grab up and shoulder, before leaving the apartment. Piers never did stay over in the conventional sense. But Chris found guilty pleasure in those few moments, the ones where they were allowed to just ease into each other's bodies, while deep breaths slowly turned into the more shallow; alerting him of wakefulness. To be honest, Chris Redfield was not a hopeless romantic. Their version of a kind word was something near a compliment hurled at one another in the field, covered in blood and gore. But it fit them. Their lifestyle wasn't conventional, so why should their love life be any different? But it was. Chris liked to lie there and watch; to brush a calloused thumb over those exotically smooth features, and push the soft fluffy, product-less bangs out of the way; before demanding a kiss to rousing lips. That brawny hand ceased caressing and gently cupped along his partner's perfectly-shaped jaw line, holding that face securely during the kiss.

Plush, petal-soft tiers pressed back, just a hint, the pillowed sweetness that they could carry in the mornings a stark contrast to the venom that spewed from his A.T.L.'s mouth during any other moment of the day. Enjoying the sultry hum of warm breath which heated their faces, rough stubble tickled sleepy cheeks; slowly tugging open those long lashes which hid exhausted hazel orbs to take in the smile before him. Piers' own features reflected a grimace over the lack of rest. Coarse pad of a thumb trailed along his soft cheek until it gave attention to the freckle, the thumb pressing against it momentarily before the strong hand brought his face into a more insistent kiss. Piers had a few freckles, the tiny little marks that mostly went unnoticed by the people who never had the luxury to get close enough, but Chris adored them with attention aplenty. Toned arms splayed out, nudging up against the massive hills of rock-like pectorals, guiding the weight of Chris' body backward against the mattress; a quiet grump released while the olive soldier turned inward. The sniper's neck cant, coddled into Chris' arms, with his face against the chest hair that his fingers found, petting against the down which only one of the two had. "I love waking up next to you." Piers brushed off the comment with an amused chortle in his half awaken state, chuckling at Chris' tiny shows of affection as his hand which stroked tawny locks, carded through the tresses; his mind lost in contemplating the possibility of continuing this simple sort of rendezvous.

"How long?"

As is on a schedule, the younger of their partnership, left on the dime each morning at four, heading to base to clean up and gear up before anyone else could come stumbling in. Glancing once at the red glowing numbers on the clock beside them, the Captain chuckled. "Five minutes…" The shifting of bodies, caused friction between both; fingers trailing in the course chest hair, whilst the rustle of sheets and blankets conformed around Piers, who smiled as their bodies allied, lying over his Captain with a smirk as he leaned down to capture a request for more time. Legs made room for the smaller soldier, a lazy kiss ended as they started to trace downward, over the jaw and adam's apple, passed the patch of hair upon his chest, leaving only fingertips above the edge of the blankets, as his body lowered down the bed, sucking in a cool breath through white enamel while a gruff hand reached low above the blankets, cupping the base of his partner's skull.

"Five minutes? Yeah…, that'll do."


	17. Office Politics

Title: Office Politics

Prompt 16. Let's get naked.

Characters: ChrisxPiers

* * *

"Damn it Chris, it's not like those men out there aren't important to me too. It's the exact opposite. I'm so fucking tired of people claiming that I don't care! But because the Captain gives them safety and security, and a damn shoulder to cry on; the way I feel is automatically dismissed as being an asshole-"

Piers' voice broke through the quiet of Chris' office, bouncing off the stacks of paperwork that were yet to be completed. Heavy brown eyes were set, dark and warm while the man shifted, in his office chair, watching the partner that had come storming in after only three minutes of his own practice time on the range. To be fair, it had been eating him up inside for some time, Chris knew that, he was a Captain after all. But to be truthful, he found it almost endearing, the fact that the hardened drill sergeant, S.O.U. A.T.L. had stormed into his office, in such a flurry. It never mattered what the reason was for the sniper's wrath, Chris Redfield couldn't help but see just how beautiful the young soldier was; fingers steepled in his own lap. All passion and fire lighting up his face, as those captivating eagle sharp eyes watered enough to glisten in the low light; all conviction and completely ensnaring. There was times in the field that he had that look, but never to the extreme of his heart felt insecurities pouring out in such a manner. Cheeks flushed red, his pacing putting movement to the musical way that he walked, Piers' natural gait-

-It's not like I don't care! You've seen what I do for them; how hard I work. Not everyone gets to be the best friend, or beloved Captain."

"I know, Piers. It's not your fault." On nights like this, it was hard not to smile. Of course, Chris never was good at hiding his emotions, a soft grin widening the longer his naturally stoic partner fumed. His lover was so impatient with earning people's love. He never understood the lengths to which people felt for him. That it was simply hard to talk to Piers in general, though at the moment all Chris could think of was the hand flicking down into a magazine rig, and plucking up a round up so that Piers could spin it in his quick narrow fingers, rambling whilst those hazel orbs stared upon the floor at every pace. Chris chuckled, not meaning to cause personal injury as he pushed with both palms to rise from the wheeling office chair, crossing the room as slowly as approaching an irate lion.

-What if I say I wanted to be like you! Huh? Never mad at them, never pushing them?!"

"Mhm." Smiling, the Captain reached out, finally ensnaring his lover about the limber waist, ignoring how he fought.

"I'm a good soldier, Chris."

"Mhm." He was more than that. He was perfect. Calloused huge mitts brushed normal perfect locks from a sweaty forehead, ignoring how the Piers pushed them away.

"I'm better than good. And I'm out there, trying to save their lives! How come you get to be the good guy?" He was such a sensitive man, not that anyone on Alpha team knew it. Chris' smile was taken as patronizing, infuriated hands throwing upward in annoyance, while those large mitts found the mesh fabric of the beloved shemagh, smelling of his sniper's natural scent, by plucking at it and hoisting the wound up rough spun upward threatening to remove it until diligent hands were swatting. "Stop it. I'm trying to tell you something, Captain." Another 'mhm' was the response, an exasperated huff marking his annoyance whilst Chris continued to pry the scarf away, removing it as firm lips captured that warm flesh beneath, kissing and sucking upon Piers' neck. "I… but Chris, I wasn't… You can't do that every time I want to…" Sucking lips trailed until they found that place which always made Piers' toes curl, shivering under the ministrations of his mouth, while protesting ever more meekly. "I'm jus…." That scent of cinnamon and apples, that sweetness which masked his naturally more manly scent, made Chris' mouth want to work harder, lazily nibbling the place just under Piers' distinct jawline, forcefully suggesting him to cant back his head and give better access. "Chris… I… I.." Tenor upset was tripping on the edge of confusion. Such a sweet sound on normally sure lips. Those sweet puffy lips, whilst the Captain's hands started trailing down after dropping the most beloved article upon the desk; grasping hold with easy aptitude upon the utility belt, undoing it lazily. It was adorable, when his partner got so worked up. Piers Nivans at a loss for words. It was precious. "Wh… wai-

Lips withdrawing, a hiss of air was sucked in through grit teeth, utility belt dropped to the ground, whilst his inert partner whimpered at the sudden feeling of cool still air upon his jawline. "Let's get naked."

"I… w.. Captainnn." Piers voice was so naturally forceful, it was so cute when he came up at a loss for words when Chris kissed him just right, those knowing fingers shaking, like they never would do in the field. "What about-

"Come on, baby. Let daddy take care of you." Red flushed features, gasping in as Chris' mouth affixed to that place; less lazy, as force reared its head, plucking up his partner by gripping both hands on that round ass hoisting him upward so that he could be dropped upon the desk, scrambling hands shoving stacks of paperwork aside as Chris laid back his partner, shoving up the regular beige coat covering up his lovely body with one hand, a smile widening across Chris' face. Mouth affixing to Piers' hipbone, exposed by low riding fatigues, and toying with that fuzzy treasure trail; endearing quiet gasps filling the room.


	18. How the Mighty Have Fallen

Title: How the Might Have Fallen

Prompt #17: Shake it Baby!

Characters: Alpha Team

* * *

"That's bullshit! No way was that a K.O. Captain!" Redfield chuckled, sitting on the beat up leather couch beside the reigning champion of the worst round of boxing he'd ever seen. "Come on, man! Get up!" Andy Walker grumbled as his fist shook furiously in a familiar up and down motion, that had everyone in the room bent over at the waist; not bothering to hide their laughter as the tiny little pixelated man nicknamed 'A-hole' tried to rise after a straight left to the jaw. Flimsy little arms shoving futilely at the mat with little ball shaped hands. "Come on! Man I've taken harder than that, this Mii is a fuckin' pussy!"

5.4...

"Come on, shake it, baby!" Marco teased, making the mock jack off gesture that Andy was using as an action to get the tiny version of himself up. Whilst the rest of the team laughed, Macauley raising his phone as it played the tune to 'The Final Countdown,' their sniper having to forcibly bite a lip as his eyes pulled shut, trying to maintain a stoic disposition even while the parading video game characters that were crude versions of themselves; all overjoyed with themselves cheered, but for the straining tiny Walker.

2…1!

"GODDAMN IT! He's a fucking cheater! I want a rematch!" A finger thrust accusingly toward the couch, Piers' putting both hands up instantly in defense; Chris ruffing the sniper's hair, as he got up, about to press a finger to the button beneath the tiny glowing green light Andy went to toes over his loss; while Finn collected the controllers and nunchucks from both parties. "Give that back, Rookie! I'm not done! I want a rematch!" Macauley jumped back, holding one end of the controller, while Andy refused to relent the other, glowering at Finn with a jut out jaw that suggested no hedging. "I'm gonna wipe the floor with him, and THEN you can have a turn. You wait in line like everyone else, numbnuts."

"Walker, he's the champ, just give it to him."

"He wouldn't be the champ, if you would take a round against him! Come on, Captain!"

"You forget the last time, the Captain played boxing? We had to buy new controllers, dude."

"No , _Walker_… you misheard me." Captain Redfield's voice was low, dangerously shutting up the remains of the room for the outburst on Andy's part. Controllers shifting hands a few times before anyone could dare fathom a look at their robust, Captain. "Him." A large mitt thrust outward, calloused finger accusingly pointing at the rookie who had boggled the grip on the Motion Plus device. "He's the champ. So give him the controller." Pointing to the screen with all the tiny graphs, each line rose steadily from the beginning but for the blue one that had risen and stayed level at the very top of the graph. "Macauley took the record two weeks ago."

"WHAT?!"


	19. Follow the Leader

Title: Follow the Leader

Prompt #18 Shake it Baby!

Characters: PiersxFinn

* * *

"I… I don't know what… what to do…I've never..." Judged features dropped, chin greeting the sternum of a now exposed chest, comparing the contours of his own body versus that of an almost immaculate form. Perfectly toned abdominal muscles that calm hands shook to be able to grace, retreating from them to grope and squeeze the fabric of dark fatigues, the cloth bunching into wads in the demolition expert's fingers in an effect to hide his own inexperience. Despite the teasing and commentary on Andy Walker's part. Going on and on about Finn's only experience being the underside to a good banging; Finn had in fact never been with anyone, woman or man. He understood his preferences, what he wanted, and what he wanted was standing in front of him, holding the shirt he had pried up from the younger officer's middle, mostly inside out as it was lifted. The sound of a brief inhale was what caught the youthful man's attention, glancing upward from under short lashes to find hazel eyes, always exacting, pinning him in place as the scent of his shirt was taken in, and then carelessly tossed aside to join the sniper's own somewhere near the squat dresser along the wall. It was one of those haunting looks where you were forced to look away, and prove your submission by being unable to maintain connection. Piers could read souls, penetrate secrets…. And with just that look he could force you to live your greatest fears. Finn adored those eyes, the mirror of seeing himself in them as they stared down at him, that stern disapproval of weakness, which made you want to be strong. Made him want to be strong.

Deft fingers trapped around Finn's wrist with simple ease, forcing attention to stop fondling the fabric of his pants, and lifting it, reluctant digits shaking in Piers grip as he pressed that single appendage upon the warm flesh of that near perfection, palm pressed up against the dip where camouflaged regulars came apart, revealing the elastic band and dark colored fabric which peered over the edge, just in front of Finn's face. His redness turned six shades; feeling that superior officer's hand guide his own until He'd pushed Finn's fingers under the lip of that snug elastic. Two taps with the tip of his middle finger, brought attention back up to Piers' face, so insensibly hard to read. "How about this, rookie? I'll do the touching," The implication hung in the air, that spare right hand clasping over the muscle in Finn's shoulder squeezing before it began a slow pace, tracing downward with the back of his knuckles; caressing almost gently the softer, smoother hills of muscle, and soft patch of hair across the chest. Finn jumped as those knuckles slide over the small nub of flesh which hardened under the contact immediately, catching it between the length of forefinger and middle. Breath sucking in, tingling erupting under the squeeze of that peach colored nipple that spread to both hands, encouraging a groan. Sea greens hid behind quick flashes of Finn's lids, sucking in a gasp when those teasing fingers squeezed again, the calloused firm tip of Piers' thumb flicking with a rough nudge against it with slow repetition.

Panting at the pleasant distraction, the explosives handler shifted in his seat upon the edge of the bed, drawn in to the feeling of the bed bowing beneath the weight of one of Piers' knees, Finn's hand still nestled against the firm fabric, coerced lower to feel the strain of the tent against his pads; as his own eyes rolled back as all the attention to his pec was causing stifling friction within his jock, thighs itching for the want of freedom. Piers leaned down, the signature tone of his emotionless voice shocking in comparison to the actions which spoke louder than words. Hot breath spilling over Finn's longer countenance when those mind numbing fingers pinched enough to draw a yelp, feeling the throb beneath his fingers and cradling his superior officer's erection. "Only if you touch me." The heat of their bodies pooled in the small space between them, Finn suddenly aware of his own fingers as his mouth went dry at the sudden disappearance of those wonderfully firm hands. "Finn. Chill…" Pleading eyes for help were met by encouragement, the kind that made his belly warm, while his hands remembered how to work, and all those years of training to handle explosives. Tentative hands pushed away inside the layers of camos, into the hot confines of the boxer briefs to velvet smooth flesh; their eyes trapped on each other as Finn got to watch as lust pooled into those golden flecked orbs, nudging lithe hips forward at the touch of velvety flesh squeezing fingers wrapping about Piers' length. Finally full lips pried apart, letting an unfettered tenor grimace sounding almost pained as it tumble off those tiers, head falling backward as a toughened pad nudged beneath the head of him, over the ridge to sweep across the slit.

Baggy fatigues fell loosely from the added motion, slipping downward around both thighs, The half straddle over Finn's lap, holding them up; hips so dangerously close, allowing the rookie soldier such closeness to being able to watch his own fingers as the pulled another hum from those kissable lips. Piers hands fast, not caring about the start it gave the other, giving Finn's shoulder one last squeeze before shifting off the bed, pulling away that hand, to hook his own thumbs upon the edge of elastic, peeling down the remains of his own clothing, Finn's mouth hanging open like a fish, sucking in air for relief. "You… you're… I…," Eyes involuntarily caught on the soft tawny trail of hair that led downward, hypnotized as stammering while a single hand nudged him backward, Piers grunt of disapproval unnoticed as the young soldier continued to stammer… sniper's sure hands gripping the hem of the other soldier's pants, tugging upward to force Finn's hips up, freeing him to jerk them downward. "You're so… But your body is so… but you're-

"Lean back, rookie. Weight in your hands." Finn nodded frantically, tipping his weight into both palms as Piers swept away both pants and undergarments in one pull, dropping them in the pile beside his own, not bothering to look where they fell as his eyes raked in the form he'd been training in the field for months. "Not bad, you're just getting started."

"Piers, you're… well, just perfect." Finn's face was red, crawling from bright red ears, to the trunk of his neck, as a single jut of Piers' jawline, hinted him to move backward, still stammering. 'I mean…, I… we…-

"Listen, remember the rules, Macauley."

"Ri... huh? _rules_?" Finn's babbling was a pleasant distraction as Piers palms caused dimples in the bed on either side of the younger of them, both moving backward until his back hit the wall, from having been scooting across the bed the short way, Piers annoyance at the lack of competence always showing in that short roll of the eyes, grabbing both shoulders and turning Finn like a rag doll 90 degrees so that he lay the proper length of the bed, taking hold of his hand and placing it upon the smooth ropes of muscle and flesh upon his ribs. "Oh! Oh, right… right… You'll touch me, if I… touch… Can I really?"

"Spit it out. That's what I said, isn't it?" They were bare and Finn was still stammering, shock crying out as Piers' put his weight over his body, laying over his with both forearms on the sides of pillow cradling the Irish's skull, hips gliding together and urging a yelp of pleasure as friction glide between their hips. A slight smile at the sinful corner of those full lips, fingers carding dark brown hair. "All night."


	20. 50 Cal

Title: .50 Cal

Prompt #19: Damn that ass

Characters: Jill, Piers, Chris

* * *

"Damn."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Oh believe me, I know."

Jill Valentine shook her head in disbelief, leaned upon the brick wall, behind the range stalls, her head cocked to the side. "Honestly… _damn_." Fingers cupped both elbows, hugging arms across her ample chest, hidden inside a blue denim cut off jacket, a cant of her head giving a better view of the subject matter caught in her line of sight. Beside her, her longtime partner Chris Redfield, replicating her stance but with that of his far more burly frame, bulky biceps straining across his barrel chest. Each shot careened beautifully and with perfect accuracy down range, never once missing its intended target. It wasn't the amazing accuracy however that had her gawking with soft almond orbs toward the prone sniper which lie perfectly unmoving in his place.

"Hell of a shot, don't I know it. Would've driven Forest nuts. Puts me to shame at that age."

"Puts us _both_ to shame."

Slow motion actions drew in the color of either Captains' eyes, admiring the ease of which tight hands moved, wasting no temptation to shift or even exchange bullets with anything so much as the slightest tip of the hand, keeping sights trained upon the target. Not a single unnecessary movement, while the lying form tucked another round into place, sucking in a breath through nostrils which flared in the cool breeze. Legs remained unmoving, one splayed behind, while the other crooked at the knee, balancing weight in their tan camouflage fatigues; olive jacket loosely undone and splayed over the shoulders and base of neck. The cold seemed to do little to bother that prone figure, Chris' eyes spotting on the target far away, pursing firm lips as the shiny brass careened down range, striking its target before the sound ricochet back upon them. "Damn." A sweet musical hum escaped his female companion, her eyes settled on something rather than the target, drawing Chris' attention as he swiped a hand across a stubbled jaw, rubbing the five 'o clock shadow several times over as his own eye landed upon the sniper who moved calculated, one hand reaching to police the shell, still as a hunted animal to nudge it into the back pocket. Calloused pads of digits rubbed the gruff covering upon the Captain's jaw one more time, shifting to the backside of that trunk like neck to rub short strands of closely cropped hair, glancing away with a brisk chuckle, forcing the man's chest to jostle with the chortle which escaped his mouth.

"Damn, that ass."

Jerking attention back with a quick snap of the neck form side to side, beady charcoal pupils pinned upon Jill. Chris taking in the sight of her mousy brown bangs hanging in front of her round face, eyes locked on, unabashed upon that round ass of his current partner. Baritone sounded in the air, cutting off the silence which had manifested itself in a bubble around Piers Nivans, until the younger man was forced to look back at the sight, both brunettes, Chris' hand clasped Jill's tiny frame; sharing a laugh.


	21. Watch Dog

Title: Watch Dog

Prompt #20: Why is your back all scratched up?

Characters: Helena Harper, Leon Kennedy

* * *

"Damn it, just stopmoving you big baby! Jesus, Kennedy, you'd think you were a five your old girl. Why is your back all scratched up, anyway? Let me guess, her name starts with C, and ends with her brother kicking your ass?" Helena grinned, her full lips tugging down at the corner as quickly trying to patch the reddened marks which were beginning to look irritated and swollen. The 'it's not like that,' comment earned nothing more than some extra peroxide dumped over the injuries. Leon couldn't hold back his complaint of pain since he wasn't expecting _that_. "I'm sure it's not. You just hopped into the sack with a panther, and enjoy bar fights. Come on, Leon, we're both adults." Truth be told, they'd been dancing around it for months, and now that her partner finally had his shirt off, it was almost easy to ignore what he'd been doing to get a good look at what she had been missing. "Hope she was worth it, that's all I'm going to say."

"Uh huh." Smoother flesh, interrupted by streaks of red welts and scratches, spoke a different story. But then it is easier to go with the player profile than that of the stalker. Damn dog. Glowering, furrowed brows knit tighter at the burning alcohol which his not so talented 'nurse' applied; all whilst he watched his assailant sniff at his shoes and play pretend. As if that damn dog hadn't jumped him the night before when he'd come over to Helena's place, hoping to admit exactly why he'd gotten her the job as his partner, or… in reflection how he felt about her. Only fitting that a girl with the attitude of a Doberman, actually own one. Vile black devil. Leon grunt in response, shoving a booted foot toward the animal which play rabbit in front of its owner.

"Leave Bruno alone. You know you really ought to tell Claire what happened? Or… was it…," coy words slowed, amusement twinkling in the otherwise commonplace monotone which Helena Harper spoke in. "A certain dark haired Asian woman?" An evil laugh escaped the somewhat vindictive woman's mouth, whilst her fingers dabbed painful little cotton balls covered in antiseptics upon the knotted muscles on Leon's back. "If it was, I promise I won't say anything. Just… tell her to clean out from under her nails? These scratches are infected. Yeesh."

If only it was so simple. Ada. Claire. Yeah, that's easy. But no, even with his playboy ways, Leon felt something more for Helena Harper. Something stronger. "Nah. It's not what you think. Not even close. OW! Damned woman, that hurts!" Laughter from the hellcat that was supposed to be tending to his wounds. Instead, she used more antiseptic. But now, he was at her mercy. Her mercy… and Bruno's. Damned dog. And it gave him a look too, like some sort of look of death if he did something to make his owner upset. Well… time for some famous last words before Bruno mauled him to death. "I guess I can trust you with this secret, we are partners after all. It's you. I… umm… like _you_. Wanna go out for dinner sometime?" Helena was in such shock that she accidentally poured the rest of the antiseptic all over Leon's back. "GGGGAAHHH!"


	22. Only After

Title: Only After

Prompt #19: Your mouth has me at a loss for words.

Characters: PiersxFinn

* * *

"What are you staring at, rookie?"

"I…" Finn's face couldn't have been redder, the exertion filling his face along with the elation he felt to still be lying atop the comfortable blanketless bed of his superior officer. Watching the curling smoke slowly billow from full pouted lips, Finn's eyes ensnared upon the more than alluring mouth that he had had the pleasure to know fully. Lying with feet nestled beneath the pillows, the comfortable warmth of crimson jersey sheets rumpled about his body, finally taking the time admire them; padding his hands about to rid the top sheet of its lumps. "I've just never seen you do it, that's all." Not that it was a bad smell, mingling with the musk of the room. That sweet apple scent, and the gun oil from the table off to the side of the foot of the bed; Finn admiring the nimble hands working over the weapons there. Piers was so immersed in what he did, that it brought a full smile to Finn's face, unabashed while sighing as his head rest upon his arms. Watching as the slow puffs of smoke were brought to that swollen mouth from all the kissing they had done… it was as if by compulsion, raised methodically after piecing together each part of the weapon at the desk. There was something about that mouth that had him lost for words. Getting to watch while those tiny quirks showed themselves was giving rise to Finn's inability to stop smiling, to stop laughing into the nook of his elbow. He'd feared his A.T.L. for so long, the object of his affections, and yet here they were… sharing second hand cancer with one another while Finn rolled in the mussed up sheets.

"How long have you smoked?" The question seemed harmless, while hungry eyes gobbled up the sight of the bedroom he had never had time to notice in all the heat of their romantic rendezvous. The partitioned wall hid the remains of the house, from view, even without a door or even a frame. And after the shock and awe of the night before, it was much smaller than he'd first assumed. Only a strange rectangle of 8x10, with the small entrance at the very corner of the room. On the opposite wall was the bed taking up the entire end the room, sidelong and shoved there, with no frame, just a mattress on a box spring; away from prying eyes, and the lonesome tiny window, that was big enough to show off the downtown nightlife from its tiny portal. The window was at a strange angle, too low to look out while standing, unless you wanted a good view of the sidewalk and attached outdoor wall light to the apartment. But it was just too high to enjoy looking out from the slim table which was the only thing visible from the door. It was the perfect height however to see out at the city of tiny night life, and glowing street lamps, red, yellow, and then viridian blearing at them; from lying sprawled upon his aching abdominals, the pushed outward glass pane allowing the hill inside and the smoke to filter out. Just a table and chair where Piers sat, his fingers coated in gun oil in a way that made the explosive expert's heart race. Piers' fingers had tasted of that oil when they'd found their magical way over every inch of Finn's body, while they splayed across his lower gut, palm holding firmly against the growing desire within the pit of his belly, as that other arm had wrapped to support their frames.

Glancing sidelong from his project, a slight tug pulled at full lips, though in disapproval or amusement the young Irish could not quite tell. "I don't." Coddling the butt of the cherry red stick between two fingers, the sniper took a single deep drag off it, before setting it back in its place, poised upon the edge of the table, where the ashes could simply tumble like snow to the floor. "Just… after." It was his first of the night, but watching the smoke move like a cloud from that full tiered mouth, it was enticing to reach out for the lighter resting on the windowsill.

"Oh." Surprise tinted Finn's voice, flipping the hard callous of his thumb against the rough bits to spark a light. Watching hazel peer from the corner of one eye for the briefest of seconds. Stealing attention was difficult to do, and soon it became very clear that Piers' wasn't use to being alone, hands unconsciously reassembling the weapon upon the table in record timing, before reaching out to snap up the lighter as if it didn't belong in Finn's hands. It may have hurt his feelings before, but somehow the younger soldier found it almost titillating to instead of letting it go, to reach out with the other hand, gripping hold of the hem of Piers' fatigues which had somehow found their way immediately back onto his frame. "Come back. _Please?"_


	23. There Can Be Only One

Title: There Can Be Only One

Prompt #19: You're being too forward.

Characters: Wesker, Excella

* * *

"The preparations are almost complete." The words slinked from her mouth almost like a snake guising its hiss as a lullaby; coaxing to manipulate through any means possible though completely unnecessary. Long nailed fingers tapping the glass syringe for a show to the 'patient' rather than a security precaution, though they were both aware of what the vile serpent was doing. Camouflaging itself in the flesh of a friend even when all black widows are certainly searching for only one thing over their mates… power. A guarded response was all that would be gifted in return, one that was direct and to the point though it certainly never seemed to sway a killer… And Albert Wesker knew a killer when he saw one; Excella Gionne, though beautiful, was no less a snake.

"Good." The insertion of the needle, was a test to see how far loyalties could be trusted even if the end on his part, was scorched to remain that trusts could never truly be given or earned. This microcosm was meant only for one man only, no mate or so called partner at his side. The ship on that had sailed long hence, and no amount of crooning, nor petting would get her closer than a puppet on string. They were all his dolls, crafted in the image he desire, as fate ordained it for a God. A pity they did not all accept their fate.

"You know, I was surprised that Las Plagas was such a success. When you first arrived I had my doubts." As do all subjects of their deities. Trembling and some willing to fight for their so called rights. But the only right belonged to Wesker, the right to be a God. This woman… ticking away at being subtle was testing the ropes of her usefulness. Fealty is all that a God require, no need for the petty ambitions of others, and of course…, playing with doubts on their cause was… too forward. "And now Uroboros is complete." Delicate, but foolish…, her goading. A simple courtesy left over from his days as a simple human being to reassure the woman who sat beside, tucking away the vials and syringes, whilst Wesker stood, leaving her side to grimace in peace over the foul stink of her pungent odor of both ambition and lust.

"Your position at Tricell is secure."

"Oh… I have my eyes on something much… bigger." And still she refuses to keep her distance, a foolish woman, as her coils slowly wrapped around their pray, fingertips hardly felt under the Teflon suit which protect where his own speed and endurance may not. Or any certain… snake bites. "You'll be needing a partner, right?" Flashes of a blond figure in the back recesses of the mind, which tensed the muscles within a strong jaw and neck, flexing at the very image of the white lab coat and busy hands. To replace that untainted legacy; she over stepped her bounds. "Someone suitable to join you in your new world." Someone with the same ambitions and the ideals of Gods… someone who would have been perfect by his side. Not the wicked temptress, crooning like a buffoon hoping to stimulate of baser calling from him. She hardly understood the meaning of his new world, let alone deserved to stand within it. A means to an end, but her fingers had strayed too far, and her aspirations too high. "I believe I've proved I'm worthy, haven't I?" Certainly… _not._

Grasping that rounded, masquerade face, leather fingers squeezed, intentionally forcing the woman to crane her head away with a sneer that could not be hidden. No need with pursuers so insistent, despite their obvious lack of chances. Foolish woman. There was only one fit to stand beside him in the new world… And that ship had long since sailed. "Perhaps you have."


	24. Silly Ol' Bear

Title: Silly Ol' Bear

Prompt 23.: This is only for tonight. Don't get any ideas.

Characters: Chris Redfield

Note: For those of you who don't get my random sense of humor. Beary is an homage to Barry Burton.

* * *

The hiss of the cap twisting under the forcible pressure beneath the powerful torque of a calloused palm, the tiny edged cap tossed casually into the nearby trash bin, overflowing with similar artifacts from a night's spree of beers being tossed back. Empty glasses clinked as the cap tumbled between them. The mitt responsible dangled inert above, over the old worn arm of the broken down navy colored LazyBoy. The volume of the old black and white upon the television hummed some corny rerun episode of Perry Mason. Beady chestnut orbs lulled halfway shut, eyed down the length of Captain Chris Redfield's nose, the backside of his head lazed against the swallowing rocker, shaking his craw occasionally at the obviously criminal in pursuit. "He's guilty. Just look at him Bear. That's the face of a bad man." Pointing a forefinger of the hand still wrapped about a Rolling Rock toward the mug of the man on T.V. with a grunt.

Glancing briefly over the side of slightly tilted chair, darkened eyes, lined with bags found the large head of man's best friend, lying prone upon the floor intently jerking the massive black and brown head to alertness to see the Captain's sudden interest. Tongue lulled to the side, the beastly 120 pound canine, huffing and coming quickly to all fours to nestle a round head beneath the motionless hand which dangled. Chuckling, fingertips massaged and scratched the short scruff upon the Rottweiler's cranium, Beary's happy mug used as a secondary armrest as attention turned back on the television.

A perfect night. Knocking back a few beers while laying out on the LazyBoy, with nothing better to do but catch up on T.V. Land's best, with good ol' Beary. No need for loud volume, with the lights dimmed, and the occasional flash of lights brightening the room from outside. "Damn storm." Thunder crashed outside, a quick turn of the eight year old pup's head beneath the gun hand; and a concerned whine turned into a huff as the sharp sound gave start to both companions. "Hey there. Just a little lightning, Bear." Another crash, and the volume was cranked in an aid of a loud 'woof' which resonated like a bass in the eardrums. "What, you trying to tell me something? Martha Brady up to no good? That's not my department." Gesturing with beer hand. Beary whined further, beginning his parade back and forth before the front of raised legs, the chair tilting backward further as legs stretched out to kick off heavy combat boots; thudding to the ground with an impact thump; whimpering of the eight year old baby commencing. Large paws found their weighted limbs at the arm of the spare hand, head resting with large round eyes glimmering as whimpering breathes became more urgent, Chris' head hanging in defeat. "Alright, alright… come on. But this is one night only, don't get any ideas." Another flash of lightning, and Beary leapt up, pretending his immense body was not like that of a full grown dog, but rather a puppy he whimpered and curled into the B.S.A.A. Captain's lap. Head wedged with a cold nose wetting the underside of a scruffy jaw; Chris thwarting the occasional attempt at a kiss by tipping that stumbled jaw upward while his mitts scratched behind furry ears.


	25. Under the Table

Title: Under the Table

Prompt 24: This is so Wrong

Characters: Alpha Team

* * *

Seagreen swam in the lime light, warm and tingling from the neck down as vodka shots were passed around for a ninth time, in just as many minutes. Fumbling hands sloshed the drinks from side to side, passed out among friends which were growing more like family. Lips were numbed, puffing out cheeks with a bubble of air, before it and a hiccup jarred the explosive expert's body. Silence surrounded the bar table. One of those obscure hole in the wall type places that no one ever expected to find a unit of men working in a field that didn't exist; drinking themselves into a pit. Walker was still coherent, gobbling down each round like they were made of candy, wincing after every gulp. Airhart, occasionally smacking at some insect only he could see. They weren't here for fun. They were here because they needed to drink themselves into a hole, and be unable to climb out of it. Finn's nose wrinkled as he plucked up the next mandatory shot, screwing up his eyes at it to take in the challenge before missing half his mouth, and groaning at the burn as the rest washed down his throat.

Thirty-five dead men. That's how many it took to get Finn Macauley to drink himself willingly under a table. Truth be told, he was sickened with himself. This was so wrong. The fog of the bar, and the mind numbing vodka had pushed him over the edge of his grief, and into a tidal pool of emotion concerning the most dedicated Captain that the B.S.A.A. had ever known. While Rose read bad homage poetry to the air over the lost, their steadfast Captain swallowed the next round, doing a small circle with his forefinger to indicate another round to the barkeeper. The other arm, occupied by holding upright the A.T.L. of their team, who was all but unconscious, and with the same hand, feeding him each shot forcibly to keep up with the rest of the team.

Thirty-five dead men across six squads. Alpha, Beta, Delta, Echo, Omega, and Sigma. Out of fifty-two men shipped out to deal with the fortress from Hell thanks to Neo-Umbrella, only seventeen made it out. Was able to finish the mission, but a mere seventeen made it out. Eight from Alpha Team and the rest scattered across the other squads that the legendary Captain Christopher Redfield managed to give orders to make it to Alpha's position so they could carry out the mission that should have claimed all of their lives. By some miracle from the heavens, the mission succeeded, but the cost was far too high. "Another round." The barkeep didn't even want give out any more booze, but all of the soldiers were armed and even a drunk soldier will hit someone with bullets. The rest of the teams were smashed, a cheap escape from enraged and depressed. The Captain felt that more than anyone else while his A.T.L. was only sitting upright because his Captain had a hold of him with a meaty arm. New drinks were brought out and then passed around. Airhart and Walker took their shots and poured them back. Finn… he decided in his drunken haze to get up and somehow make his way over to where Chris was seated. He sat away from his team for a damned good reason. Didn't want anyone else next to him but Piers, and even then Nivans had been checked out mentally since they had boarded the chopper home, as had most the team, but Finn found himself awkwardly drawn to the way he had seemed to vacate his body while everyone else were drunken messes. Still, the explosive's expert sat next to him, shifting uncomfortably as his legs fought for a position which made sense between crossed at the ankles, or hunkered down over his rolling stomach. "Captain… hi." Chris turned his head, that ugly look on his face, which only he could muster when he'd had just the right mixture of drink and disappointment.

Eyes bat, akin to a woman, as the bomber fought to clear up his vision enough to make a valid attempt at consoling the Captain. That kind of shit didn't belong here. Not at all, enough that the belch in Andy Walker's mouth was wet with vomit until he swallowed it back down, hoping to avoid watching Macauley make an ass out of himself. "Cap… _Chris_, can call you that?" The eyes kept on batting as Finn jumbled for the right words that made sense in his mind and filtered with beer goggles. Chris' face was changing quickly between remorse for those lost, and the gorilla like madness of a silver back that broached close on hitting his rookie in the face. "Get away from me, Macauley. I don't have time for that bullshit." The mean look on Chris' face got meaner when the kid touched him, unmistakably the largest mistake of his life. As if it was okay to do such a thing. The vomit from Rose's mouth hit the floor with a splash which unintentionally echoed the wash of ill that seemed to come over Piers Nivans' face without committing himself to give Finn the sympathetic glance he deserved for turning himself into the physical outlet of Captain Redfield's rage. "I can help…, mayb- Captain Redfield finished his shot of booze, then introduced Finn's head to the table to put a timely end to the tenth round.

"Get me another shot."


	26. Literal Meanings

Title: Literal Meanings

Prompt 25.: Bite Me

Characters: Chris Redfield, Albert Wesker

This fic was encouraged and co-written by: Morriganna

* * *

_Ding!_

"You know the Patriots won." Leaning to the side, two stoic figures faced forward within the confines of the elevator. One pair of eyes danced playfully toward the other, without a turn of the head. The other pair rested somber upon the glinting numbers which lit after every floor."I believe everyone knows that, Christopher. That's why we called them our forefathers." A moment of silence ambled its way between the two. Taken aback, Chris Redfield jarred at the unexpected result of aristocratic upbringing and a more uncomfortable seriousness that S.T.A.R.S.' Captain Albert Wesker always managed to unsettle into every situation. Stiffling a laugh, lips pursed to avoid the onset of laughing, turning his head slowly to take in the sight of the unaffected blond.

_Ding…._

_Ding…_

_Ding…_

"The football team, Wesker. Football." Sometimes, even little things will go over Albert Wesker's head. Captain Albert Wesker of S.T.A.R.S. "Jesus, Wesker! HAHA! The Patriots, New England Patriots. The NFL? You know, Football. American Football…, touchdowns, interceptions, and field goal kicks. The goddamn Superbowl?" A sound akin to a scoff escaped firm lips, canting the angular jaw upward in its dismissive manner despite the obvious cultural deficit, sunglasses hiding the narrowing of grey blue eyes. "Bite me.""Childish much? Not my fault your parents grew you in a goddamn bureaucratic bubble."  
Quiet ensued… a small smirk growing as did the awkward silence, while slowly, infinitesimal inches crept Chris Redfield just close enough that his mouth had barely parted to take advantage of the obvious miscommunication between the literal world which Albert Wesker lived within halted by the English tone and deadly eyes which petrified all they met. "Don't. You. Dare."


	27. On Your Left

Title: On Your Left

Prompt 26.: This is only for tonight. Don't get any ideas.

Characters: ChrisxPiers

This fic was encouraged and cowritten by: Morriganna

* * *

"Jesus, FUCK!" Jarred with one limp, tenor tremoring with the sudden stumble, tucking and rolling to evade further injury to the leg as the sniper hugged the limb. Worried eyes moved eerily slower than initial reflexes to grab up the tumbled soldier as both Captain and A.T.L. went sprawling out onto the short trimmed grass of the lawn surrounding Washington Monument, the park sprawling out around them. Time off for a bit, not that they needed it, but soldiers on vacation get a kind of stir crazy, claustrophobia. So, here they were, jogging in the early morning with the sun rising over the monument, both men with legs splayed out. The puncture mark drizzled red, dark mark seeping with blood which smeared away by an olive hand to see the depth as Chris leaned his body back into the Captain's chest, leaning over to drag a calloused thumb pad into the dip in taut calf flesh, hearing the quick inhaled hiss as Piers' head tipped back into the juncture of Chris' hulked shoulder with a jerk. "It's just a prick, leave it. Damn shorts, should have worn fatigues. Figures. Help me up."

"Could be a snake bite. Hold still."

"Snake? Captain, stop-"

A deep chortle escaped but stifled quick, not listening as the Captain strong armed a stiffened leg to extend forward, shifting out from behind the sniper to lean his larger torso over both legs, pinning them still as he lowered down over the wound. Tongue out, the sick muscle darted out over the sniper's injured flesh. Thin lips sealing over the injured area to begin sucking on taut flesh, teeth grazing over surrounding skin, smiling around the wound as that ragged wince altered into something akin to grimaced moan. Soldier leaning into both palms splayed upon the grass. "Do… do you have to use your tongue?" They both knew there was no poison, nor a snake, even while bear trap hands squeezed that warm leg tighter, tongue prodding to lick the injured area. Poison, such a perfectly innocent excuse. "Chris, we're in public…"

"Mmmhmm… we are…" Chris didn't care as he sucked out the 'poison' from his lover's wound. Sucking and licking with that talented tongue. Hearing Piers moan was the icing on the cake, even passed the wincing from the burn puncture. Sure it was public, but nothing was more fun than putting red on that stuck up soldier's face. It was so early in the morning anyway, no one there anyway, and he always knew how to win. Just a quick swap of spit over the heated burning wound upon the sniper's leg and fingertips wrapped into the turf of brown tresses, jerking back the trunk of his neck as hazel eyes pierced mahogany oculars, narrowing. "Hold on, partner… there could be more poison." Chris flashed a dazzle of smile, attempting to lean back in until the it was halted with those deceptively strong forearms.

"Maybe you missed some… higher."


End file.
